The 2084 Precept

  ***

  It was an English day. Overcast. But it wasn't raining and so I went for a walk, having found a copy of Friday's F.T. in the lobby to take with me. Yes, I agree with you, a hotel of this category should not have a two-day old newspaper lying around, Sunday staffing or not.

  I had my coffee and croissants in Shepherds Market and checked the financials. Annoying, the optimists have been at work again, the big players, the investment funds, the pension funds and all the others have been betting—for that is all it is—that next week's U.S. and European economic indicators will prove positive and that, for a few days at least, some money can be earned. Everything has moved up, which at the present point in time means I lose money, my main investment currently being a leveraged bear certificate on the Eurostoxx 50. I have lost about €10,000 this week, not a problem, roughly ten days work if you take into account the tax offsets and the income tax, but needless to say the other way round would have been preferable.

  Timing is the constant issue on the stock markets, when to buy what and when to sell what. Sometimes you get it right and sometimes you get it wrong, just like the experts. A war breaks out here, an oil drilling platform develops a leak there, a country defaults on its debt, a tsunami hits a nuclear power station, or whatever. As for my bear certificate, I will just keep it of course, things will start collapsing again soon. That is what I say at least, but who knows how stocks will move over the next twelve months, it's just one vast, contrived casino at the best of times. The golden rule is that if you can't afford to lose any of your money, stick it into a savings account—although nowadays you would also have to be careful about which bank you choose and you wouldn't get much interest either.

  I strolled through to Park Lane, turned left and left again, and navigated my way back to the hotel. Having decided to overnight in Slough in order to be up bright and early for tomorrow's stint at the factory, I crossed over to reception to ask if I could leave my things in the room, back tomorrow night and off to Germany on the Tuesday. It was a man on duty, pale complexion, red hair, one of your haughty, disdainful types despite the training. These people should get themselves a job which keeps them a long, long way away from any member of the public, in particular the paying public. And certainly from a member of the paying public whose good mood has been moderately diminished by stock market events.

  I looked at him. He looked at me. I looked at him. I waited. He waited. Oh well. Some training was needed here, a kind, well-meant and benevolent act to help him indulge in some necessary self-improvement. "GOOD DAY TO YOU," I said in an excessively loud voice, causing a stir among a group of elderly tea drinkers on the other side of the lobby. He didn't blink an eyelid. "Can I be of assistance?" he asked. Not even a 'sir', can you imagine that? And so I looked at him again, an ice-cold look, a piercing look, a look which lasted long enough for him to know that there was a problem here. "GOOD DAY TO YOU," I repeated into his face again and waited to see what would happen.

  The face began a battle with itself and you could virtually see his inadequate brain grappling with the realization that this bastard of a customer was expecting a courteous greeting from him, a greeting which his convoluted mass of nervous tissue had no desire to supply, a major conflict occurring among the poorly-wired neurons within his skull, a serious paroxysm of cerebral disturbance. And this tortuous activity eventually produced a mumbled syllable which I interpreted to be '…day'. I knew of course in advance, when I put my question to him about the room, that the answer would be no, unfortunately not possible, not unless we bill for it, hotel policy you understand sir. But, aha, I had achieved a 'sir' at least.

  No point in calling the manager on this one, he would probably say the same thing; but a small additional piece of training for this incapable sod was called for. A piece of 'training by fear' in fact. Just to make it better for future hotel clients.

  "May I have your name please?" I demanded, handing him my inquisition look, at which I swear he turned, if you will forgive the unauthorized usage of a slice of musical text from the sixties, a whiter shade of pale. He took hold of the name card fixed to his jacket lapel and waited until I had read it. I made sure he saw me writing it down on the F.T., and then I asked for the bill and paid with the credit card. He will be suffering, no doubt about that. He will be wondering what I intend doing. And he will be more polite to me the next time he sees me, I would happily bet on that. Also he will say good morning sir, or good day sir, or good evening sir. But he really shouldn't be here at all, this is a hotel where good rooms cost £450 per night. By no means unduly expensive for the area, but a modicum of customer-friendly service is nevertheless to be expected. And if I don't receive it, I often opt for the application of remedial action.

  My intentions in these cases are good ones. It is a form of training. I intend no harm. I am merely attempting to assist. And the fact that I often fail is unimportant; it is those few occasions when I succeed that count. Thanks to me, someone, somewhere, is improving him or herself right now.

  I went up to my room, packed my suitcases and called for a bellboy to take them down to my car in the garage. More often than not, I drive over to England. The cost is the same as flying if you take into account the taxi costs at both ends. The trip itself is made up of four and a half hours driving time to Calais, an hour and a half on the ferry to Dover—grab some sea air, have something to eat, do some onboard shopping—and up to two hours to reach London. It also means that I can travel at a time convenient to myself and return whenever I decide to, sometimes in the middle of the night. I can take more luggage, my suits stay nicely pressed hanging in the car, and I have a vehicle with me during my stay with no rental costs for my employer. The latter goes down well, thanks to my lies about trying to save them money on my expenses.